A/N Here you go guys, and thanks for the reviews. Ohand anything that you recognize from a published book I do not own. There. Enjoy the latest chapter!
Chapter Two:
Her hands, she noted as she clasped the paper firmly between them, were shaking. She could understand why. She was about to commit treason on the country and enter the Own under false pretenses. She was taking her life in her own hands and handing in the papers to Sir Raoul, the papers that had been meant for Robert.
One trembling hand reached to the middle of her chest, were the ring rested on a bronze chain under the corset that bound her breasts. She had chosen to keep the cursed thing, hoping maybe it had only good luck left in it, after killing her brother.
She sighed, straightened her back and checked her hair in the mirror once more, making sure that none of the brown hair had escaped the bun and peeked through from underneath her expensive black wig, and knocked on the door to the room.
The barked answer to enter had her flinching, but she continued into the room, her eyes wide with anxiety. She had no idea that as she looked in on Raoul, who scowled at her, that she looked like a frightened little boy.
"What?" he demanded in a sharp tone. This was the fourth person to interrupt his alone time today and he wasn't at all happy about that fact. He snapped the papers out of the quaking hands, and grunted at the papers.
Tori startled at the grunt. She knew that the papers were in order, and they had no specific name on them, for the instructor that had given Robert the papers had explained that they were only preliminary papers. Robert, and now she in his place, would get the formal papers from Raoul, the ones with all the names on it. Raoul, who had never seen her or Robert before, would think nothing of this. Or so Robert had explained to her.
"Well, you look like a little boy, but it seems you're quite capable. Report to Derek of Masbolle, commander of the Special Forces squad."
Her face paled even more. She knew that name. That was the name of the man she had been introduced to by Robert. She nodded and left the room, her entire body trembling now. Discovery was just around the corner, she thought, and it would be off with her head. She had seen her face in the mirror and the wig did little to disguise who she was. She knew that if anyone who had known herbefore saw her now, they would recognize her without hesitation.
She tucked her chin into her chest as she walked, hoping to draw as little attention to herself as she possibly could. If people noticed her, they would start to see how unmanly she was. For indeed, she had no idea how men acted or how to act like one. She knew even less about how to be a warrior.
"Look out boy!" a rough voice called. She startled and jumped back as a horse trampled the grass where she had stood seconds before. Some how, her feet had carried her outside and into the training courts. She looked up at the man that was in control of the horse and saw him. Derek.
"What do you want?" he asked, in a rough voice, but one not unkind. For several paralyzing seconds she thought he had seen straight through her façade, but his eyes, she saw were fastened on the papers in her hand. He grabbed the papers from her hands when she stretched them up to him.
"A new recruit, aye? What's your name?" he said, looking down at her with a frown. She truly looked like a frightened little boy, driven into a corner with no escape.
"Torick sir!" she replied having picked the name before coming here. She had pickedaname that was close to her own, making it easier for her to remember it and respond to it.
"Report to Domiar in the stables. He'll get you set up with all the gear you need for Special Forces. And welcome to the Own."
He handed her back a single paper, one stating what rank she would be in and she tucked it into her pocket, bowed to him, and began the short walk to the stables. She felt his eyes one her back the entire way.
When she entered the stables she took a moment, resting against the now closed door, gathering her wits. Seeing him had brought the entire thing back. She had lived with the constant pain in her heart sincehis deatha week ago, but she had become adept at not acknowledging the hurt. But seeing him, seeing Robert's friend made it all real, all so close to the surface.
The tears welled, ones that she had been fighting back all week. She wished she could cry, but she knew that she couldn't. She had to be strong, for Robert's sake, And for her own. She sighed once, a long, forlorn sound in the quiet of the stables before pushing herself from the door and into the torchlight within.
As she walked slowly down the center of the stables, each horse seemed to look out at her, and the intelligence she saw in their eyes spooked her, but she couldn't help admiring their beauty. Each one was fit for a noble, she thought, then suppressed a laugh. Of course they were, this was the King's Own! One horse, in particular caught her attention. This one didn't look at her from the stall; it didn't even seem to notice her presence.
She wandered closer to the stall, expecting to find another beauty of a horse. But when she looked, she saw it was just a plain brown horse, with plain brown mane and tail and dull brown eyes. He was a normal horse in every aspect, and she found herself taking a liking to it. It must have liked her too because he stretched out his head and nuzzled her shoulder.
"Can I help you?" a voice demanded sharply. Tori turned and handed him the papers in the same movement. It was only after he had begun looking at them that she realized she had no idea who he was. She had handed her papers to a total stranger. Her face wanted to flush with embarrassment at her folly, for surely he would realize her mistake also and laugh at her for it.
She stared at him, mapping out his facial features and expressions in her mind. His skin was very pale, as if he didn't spend much time in the sun, and his hair was almost as white as snow.
"I'm Domiar," he told her, looking up from the paper before pocketing it. "And you are?"
"Torick."She could have sighed with relief at the fact that she hadn't screwed up, but set to scolding her self silently instead. She was to easily able to trust, she would have to break that habit. "I'll outfit you for the Special Forces. You'll be needing two horses. You can take that one, as he seems to like you," he nodded to the horse she had just been studying and grinned at her. She pulled back from him, for, for a few seconds, he had looked like the demon, the white one that had haunted her dreams.
"Follow me," he said in a gentle voice, as if he had noted her fear, seen it one her face or in her eyes, and was determined to sooth it. But she wouldn't allow herself to be pulled in by a simpled smile and a kind voice. She was alone now, she had to take care of herself, make careful judgments or it would all be over. She followed him, two steps behind.
"I see you've been entered into Special Forces. That's the highest rank within the Own short of commanding. Derek must really feel the need torture the new recruits to put you in there with such light testing. You'll be crushed the first day. But I'm sure you won't be the last to enter, maybe even not the weakest one. We'll be having over two hundred more recruits entering with in the week. You're one of the first. I'll show you around the place, get you settled and in a few days, you can begin your training. Now, do you have any experience at all, in any sort of weapons?"
"Yes, some," she answered in a rough voice that she had adopted for the purpose of blending in further. She decided to ingore the slight he had handed her on her weak apperance. She knew it was true.
"Good, that'll make it easier on you when Derek begins his training, if you have some experience. What weapons would they be?" he asked, leading her out of one building and towards another.
"Swords, knifes, bows, but manly staffs. Some hand-to-hand, but I'm not very good at that," she answered in a clipped tone, sounding as if she knew what she was talking about.
"Good. This is the mess hall for the Own," he told her as they entered the building. She looked up to see rows and rows of tables and benches, some occupied by Own soldiers, most empty. At the far end of the vast room, she could see a serving window that led into the kitchen area.
"And through this door is the armory for the Own," Domiar continued, walking farther into the mess hall. She saw a door present to the side and followed him through it, into the armory. It was a large room, almost as big as the one she had just left. The walls were lined with weapons of every size, shape and kind imaginable. Her eyes rounded comically at the sight of so many weapons in such a variety.
"Take your pick," Domiar gestured with a nod of his blonde head, an amused grin on his face. "One of each weapon you can handle."
She nodded, her eyes narrowing in determination as she walked slowly down the length of each wall, making sure to look at each weapon to assess it's value fully. She stopped when she came upon a certain sword. It was small, and light, she noted, as if made for a woman. She grabbed it carefully from the wall, the handle sliding into her grip easily. It fit perfectly. The sword was made of the finest metal she had ever seen, the hilt of silver. At the base of the hilt, the pommel was fashioned as a jewel, an emerald, fitted so the sharp point of the emerald faced down. She knew it had been placed just so with the thought of hitting someone over the head with it.
"Give it a test swing," Domiar said quietly, watching as she handled the sword. Her eyes seemed to glow as she gave it a sharp flick, twisted to the side to lunge, and then rounded towards him with a slash.
She froze as she faced him, a memory coming to the surface, a memory not her own. It was of a woman, a powerful one, that had held the sword as she held it now, had wielded the sword, as she did now, and had claimed the emerald because the color had matched her eyes, as they matched Tori's.
"Is that the one then?" Domiar asked, startling her from the vision, if it could be called that. She nodded, and silently took the leather scabbard from the wall and slid the sword home, not so certain she wanted to keep the sword. She knew the vision had come from it. But it had been shown to her for a reason. She debated whether or not to keep it, but the decision was taken out of her hands. Domiar was motioning for her to pick out a staff and she rushed to do so.
For now, she thought as she viewed to different selections, she would keep the sword.
Zahib bowed before the man who sat elegantly in a chair at the very head of the small, enclosed room. He wanted to hunch his shoulders to try and defend himself from his master's wrath, but his pride wouldn't allow it.
"Tell me again," his master's soft voice hissed at him, "Tell me again how it is that you killed the wrong person?"
Zahib took a deep breath before answering, sending up a silent prayer to the God's. "He was wearing the ring, master. The one that you described to us. When we saw it, we just assumed that he was the one."
"Did you also assume that I was wrong?" he drew out the word Zahib had used as if it was a curse in itself. Zahib flinched and felt his partner Keith do so as well.
"No master, it was just that in the excitement of doing as you commanded us—"
"I commanded you to kill a girl! Not a man! You did not do as I commanded and the girl has escaped!"
"Girl?" Keith asked, looking up at the master, directly disobeying the master's command. But, Zahib could only shake his head. Keith was not the smartest. "There was a girl with him. Remember Zahib? She was the one that got slapped!"
"Girl?" the master thundered, rising to his feet to pace, his anger at full boil now. "The girl was there and you still killed the wrong person? She was within your grasp and you let her go? What am I to do with you?"
"But master, why is she so important. She's only a woman," Keith said and Zahib knew he was doomed. His prediction came true when the master's elegant white hand lashed out, striking Keith across the face, knocking him several feet back.
"Of course she's a girl! And she's far stronger then she seems. She has the prophecy behind her. And if she does not die, she will—" he cut himself off before he revealed to much. "Tell me what this girl looked like, Zahib," the master demanded after a small pause.
"Brown hair and green eyes. A normal girl. Nothing special about her at all," he said with hidden relish. He didn't believe he had anything to fear. She was just a helpless woman, after all. Hadn't he seen her take a hit in the middle of the tavern, degraded and humiliated before his very eyes? What could the master have to fear of her?
"Did you get a good look at her?" the master said once more in his hissing voice. He was plotting, Zahib thought, and at a very fast pace.
"Yes, master," he answered quietly.
"Would you be able to recognize her?" the master hissed again.
"Yes, master," Zahib answered again.
"Then go, and find her. And when you find her, bring her to me and I will be the judge of whether you are worthy of my forgiveness. Go now, but remember, you screw up once more, Zahib, and I will take your life as punishment."
Zahib left hurriedly after bowing to his master, all to eager to be away.
Far away across many oceans, he sat in his ancient chair at the ancient desk surrounded by thousands of ancient scrolls piled around him. He was focused on one, open and centered on his desk, reading one line over and over, memorizing it for it was key to the turning of the prophecy, rocking back and forth in his concentration. She had reached the fork, he thought as he read the line once more. She had come to the choosing of one path over another. One destiny over another. One death over another. He stared as if reading the right path would makethe choice for her.
She will be presented with the choice. If she chooses to keep the ancients sword her path shall be thus…But if she chooses to reject the sword, her path shall be death.
He shuddered as he watched the scroll change, watched the second path of the fork slowly fade from sight. She had accepted the sword, things were going as planned. His gentle rocking stopped and he leaned back, allowing himself a moments rest before another prophecy gripped him and he was forced to write once more.
Such was the life of a prophet, such was his life. It was becoming harder and harder for him to concentrate on anything other then the prophecies that ruled his life. But he would always have time for this one, his first.
A vision came and all thought was lost as his hand began to write on a blank sheet of parchment. But niggling at the back of his mind was the memories of the girl, the girl that had given him his first, and most treasured vision.
A/N okay, one thing to clear up. At the part her path shall be thus…I purposely left out her path, because I don't want to reveal it yet. So, yeah, there you go. Review me!
Nubia